


Not All That Burns Is Deadly

by KaturaBayliss



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types, Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Angst, Blind Character, Blindness, Canon Compliant, F/M, Gen, Hospitals, Post-Promised Day, Royai - Freeform, head canon, implied royai - Freeform, slight whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-22
Updated: 2019-09-22
Packaged: 2020-10-26 06:53:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,270
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20738036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KaturaBayliss/pseuds/KaturaBayliss
Summary: Useless. The word had been used to describe him before. But only jokingly, only as a reminder that he was mortal. No one had ever truly believed Roy Mustang, the Hero of Ishval, was useless.Except for now.What use was a blind flame alchemist? Or a blind colonel?





	Not All That Burns Is Deadly

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Karinakamichi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Karinakamichi/gifts).

> He had been powerful, deadly even. He had been determined to use his flame to guide Amestris out of darkness. And now, just when his country needed him to right the wrongs that had been committed, he was of no use to them. He couldn't even brighten his own darkness.  
Maybe fire has no place in life-only death.

** Roy had finally fallen** asleep after hours of tossing and turning while trying to block out the incessant noise from the hallway. He'd been granted a private room-a true luxury in the week following the coup; but even so, the constant voices, footsteps, and mechanical sounds from outside the door had nearly driven him mad. Apparently, being blind gives you superhuman sensitivity to noise.  
Sleep was even worse, however; filling his sight-deprived mind with the worst things he'd witnessed in Ishval and morphing into a disjointed kaleidoscope of flames and the stench of death as he stumbled through sandy streets.  
The order had come from the very top two weeks before: Eradicate every Ishvalan man, woman, and child.  
Roy hadn't signed up for genocide; but a soldier followed orders. He told himself that he was serving his country. Defeating an enemy to the very existence of Amestris. It was a lie that he had barely maintained.  
But then, then there was the incident with the boy that made the lie unreachable. This was the memory that his brain spat back at him tonight.  
Roy had been assigned a group of buildings that had been labeled a 'terrorist hideout'. It was nothing out of the ordinary; a routine and fiery ending to what had been a routine and fiery day. An entire city block was easy for him to decimate with a single transmutation, a single snap of his fingers. He barely thought anything of it anymore.  
This assignment had been every bit as routine; nothing report-worthy. But he would never forget.  
He had snapped once, setting the entire complex ablaze in a glorious and terrible display of lethal flame. His hand had been raised, preparing to summon the second wave of fire that would level the building, when something-a human being-materialized from the flames, impossibly alive.  
It had been a boy, about seven or eight years old by Roy's estimation, running out of the blaze, his hair and clothes on fire as he screamed in agony and stumbled into the street. Mustang's entire squadron had frozen, watching in shock as the boy made it into the middle of the street before collapsing.  
The boy's tortured screams echoed around him as the child thrashed on the ground, flames devouring his flesh. Roy didn't know what to do, unable to perform the final transmutation that would end the boy's agony. His fingers were poised to snap, but he was frozen in horror as the boy twitched and screamed-a creature of fire, burning to the bone.  
_ Father in heaven, what have I done..._  
Then slowly, painfully, he snapped his fingers, sending the flames towards the burning monster on the ground.  
Roy jerked awake, gripping the sheets in a cold sweat.  
_ Where am I?_  
His eyes turned every which way, but the room was pitch black. He couldn't see a thing.  
_ A light, I need a light._  
He sat up, his hands searching the darkness for a candle, a match, anything. He felt a bedside table to his right. Strange-his was on the left.  
_ What is going on? Where am I?_  
Then, it all came back to him. The Promised Day, the forced human transmutation, the inky blackness that was now his life.  
He was in the hospital.  
He was blind.  
Roy rubbed his hands through his hair, trying to force the nightmare out of his head, to remember something else-some memory of beauty. But try as he might, he couldn't. All he saw in his mind's eye was the death he had caused.  
_ So, this is how it's going to be from now on?_ he wondered, head in his hands. With his sight gone, he had nothing left to fight the nightmares; trapped in his own mind with nothing but images from the past.  
Surely there had to be something in there.  
He searched desperately, trying to call to mind a flower, a sunset, any small memory of beauty. Nothing came to him.  
_Useless_.  
The word hammered a painful nail into Roy's chest.  
He had been powerful, deadly even. He had been determined to use his flame to guide Amestris out of darkness. And now, just when his country needed him to right the wrongs that had been committed, he was of no use to them. He couldn't even brighten his own darkness.  
_ Maybe fire has no place in life-only death._  
Suddenly, Roy stiffened, hearing what sounded like the rustle of paper.  
He wasn't alone in the room. Someone was here with him; someone had been here while he slept, watching him.  
Sitting up, he listened closely, straining to hear anything that might indicate where the person was or what they were doing. He heard a page being turned. Someone was reading a book somewhere off to his right-possibly seated in a chair beside his bed.  
"Can I get you anything, sir?"  
Roy started, his head snapping towards the familiar voice.  
"Hawkeye!" he said, a bit too sharply. He felt his heartrate slowly returning to normal, relief seeping through his veins.  
He heard the book shut.  
"Is something wrong, sir?"  
Mustang released a breath that he didn't realize he'd been holding. "No, Lieutenant. Everything's fine," he lied, sitting back. "What are you doing here so early, anyway?"  
"It's afternoon, sir," the Lieutenant replied. "The sun's already setting."  
"Oh," Roy said, mildly surprised. "I see."  
_ My internal clock is seriously messed up, _he thought.  
Just then, a loud explosion sounded somewhere in the distance.  
Roy flinched, sitting up straight. "What was that?"  
_ Were Fuhrer loyalists fighting back?_  
Throwing the sheets aside, he scrambled to get out of bed. He could hear the Lieutenant stand and walk to the window as more explosions sounded.  
"Hawkeye, what's going on?" he demanded. "What do you see?"  
The Lieutenant said something, so softly that Roy couldn't make it out.  
"What was that?" he demanded.  
"Fireworks," she answered. "They're setting off fireworks to celebrate."  
Gripping the edge of the bed for balance, Roy stood slowly, listening to the high-pitched whistles, followed by loud booms. He could've sworn they were mortar shells.  
"Fireworks?"  
"Yes, Colonel."  
Mustang stilled. He'd seen fireworks before. He remembered that they were dazzling, but he couldn't recall an image to mind.  
"Describe them."  
Hawkeye hesitated for a moment, looking back at her commanding officer, then she turned to the window.  
"Some are yellow, some blue, some green, and some red." She pushed the curtain further aside. "They're flying over the city and erupting into bright balls of color and light."  
Roy's sightless eyes roved back and forth as he tried to form an image in his mind.  
"They're like shooting stars," Hawkeye continued. "A tail of bright light, then a burst of colourful sparks and beautiful fire."  
Mustang's breathing steadied as he slowly sat back on the edge of the bed, twisting his fingers through the sheets.  
_Beautiful fire._  
That was how he had first seen it-the gift of flame alchemy.  
Beautiful in its mysteries.  
Beautiful in the swooping lines and curves tattooed on Riza's flesh.  
Beautiful as it defended Amestris.  
But it had been a long time since he thought of his gift as a thing of beauty. Ishval had destroyed that image. There was nothing attractive about genocide.  
But fire could do more than destroy; it could do more than kill. It could provide warmth and light.  
It could sustain life and guide the way out of darkness.  
It could even be beautiful.  
Roy relaxed, his eyes closing as he exhaled gently.  
He could see them now, in his mind's eye; the fireworks of years ago as they zipped across the night sky.  
_Beautiful_.


End file.
